


Mirror, Sword, and Shield

by Huppupbup (Nammish)



Category: Ghost - Mystery Skulls (Music Video), Mystery Skulls (Band)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Medication, Snippets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 04:56:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2953139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nammish/pseuds/Huppupbup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before it all went wrong, they were friends. More than that even. It's been a long time since then. Sometimes the healing process means it has to hurt first.</p><p>(a disjointed series of one-shots that may or may not be a single story)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. and when all you want is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The difference between the truth and the lie is only which one you say out loud.

 

 

He says he's going to look for Arthur, but he doesn't mean it.

'Look for' implies that Lewis didn't spend years of his life with a skinny, blonde shadow. Arthur has always been a creature of habit—when in doubt or trouble, he shuts down. Usually he hides somewhere that he thinks will be safe. Then Arthur buys himself time to deal. He'll bury his fears beneath a pile of useless projects. Anything put off beforehand morphs into a shield from reality. In the past there had been times where this went on for hours or days, without food or sleep or company. Now that Lewis is no longer alive, it's strange to know that so little has changed. Arthur is still a mess of nerves (worse now than he ever was before, and a bitter part of the ghost is still glad of it).

Back in their home town, Lewis would have had to go searching. Any of the team's workplaces would have been an option, even if they weren't on the clock at the time. The Tome Tomb had a quiet sitting area with dim lighting. Arthur could curl up with a tattered book on dead languages and lose himself in syntax. The Pepper Paradisio was filled with light and laughter. Lewis' family had all but adopted both of his friends upon _meeting_ them. There would be noise and joy and affection that would let Arthur drown out everything else. Uncle Lance's apartment and the garage below, where he'd raised Arthur for the majority of his life. The overgrown grove tucked away in the back of the city park, Arthur's favorite pizza place...

It might have taken _hours_ to comb all the holes-in-the-wall that Arthur had claimed for himself.

Luckily, they aren't home.

The middle-of-nowhere highway they took has strained the otherwise bountiful reserve of hiding places. In the chaos of Arthur's mind after the panic sets in, a locked door and a motel room has never meant anything more than a bed and bathroom to use. Even before one of them could walk through walls, he didn't feel safe in such places. Too open, too unfamiliar.

Which leaves the van.

Sure enough, Arthur's legs are just visible over the rear bumper, dangling beneath the bottom edge of the open doors. Every so often they twitch and swing. When he's wound up and uncomfortable, Arthur becomes a ball of energy and nerves. Relief is only found when he fidgets and shifts his weight all over. The more space he claims within his makeshift sanctuary, the more he gradually settles. Within a domain all his own, he finds time just to breathe. Lewis hasn't dawdled in so long that it feels strange to be idle. He stands and watches the odd kick into the air, and the shadow of Arthur's hands as he works on something to clear his head. It's the closest to being at rest the ghost feels since he died. The last few weeks have been chaotic. Haunting Arthur's movements. Watching over Vivi as she raced headfirst into one adventure after the other. Sidestepping Mystery who seems eternally on guard and growling at shadows...

But now Vivi's angry at him. Lewis can still feel the lingering shock from her palm across his cheekbone. It twinges in the dark recesses of his mind, shouldn't hurt but it does. She's refused to speak with him until he speaks with Arthur. There's no changing her mind once it's fixed...

...and Lewis doesn't know how to tell her that he's afraid.

How do you start again?

They can't.

 _He_ can't.

Lewis moves into the light anyway. Rather than watching Arthur for signs of malice, he strives instead to watch. The full-body flinch is a familiar response. Ever since Lewis agreed to return to the group, there has been a constant tension. He has almost become used to the way brown eyes dart all over the place but never move to make eye contact. The bend in Arthur's spine meant to make him seem nonthreatening. Quick steps that get him out of the way as fast as possible. What changes—what Lewis finally sees—is where exactly the quick, furtive gazes land. Both arms, both legs, hands last. It takes a moment and Lewis cannot be certain without asking, but he thinks it may all be in the same order every time. A routine that until now Lewis had ignored because he so enjoyed seeing Arthur afraid that he didn't care why.

He steps closer, footfalls deliberately making noise. Arthur is startled out of his reprieve and left clutching at the object he was working on. It's a part for the van's engine most likely. Lewis knows only five or so names of the pieces involved in making the vehicle go, and this is not one of them. The hands on it are white, bloodless and tightly pressed. It seems less about Arthur fearing that the piece will fall, or even that Lewis will attack. More that Arthur is trying not to move.

The ghost doesn't know how to begin.

“...hi.” Arthur's voice warbles, breaking the silence but none of the strain in the atmosphere. Lewis struggles to be grateful for the attempt. The best he can summon is to not crowd the smaller figure, to not move any closer but still stay completely visible himself. He knows that he's been using his size to intimidate and if he can't be civil, he can at least try to not be aggressive.

It takes more effort than he would like to grind out an answering, “Hello.”

Arthur shifts.

There is a quick movement of his eyes, brown flicking up then back down to the piece in his hands. Lewis is starting to hate the lack of anything happening here as much as he hates that they need to do this. It's becoming frightfully obvious how little Arthur has spoken at all over the past two weeks. He'd ignored the majority of conversation attempts, chased any advancements on Vivi off as soon as he knew of them...

But Vivi is loud, and bright, and vibrant. She has filled the lack of Arthur with such ease. Lewis never stopped letting her be his whole world long enough to realize what is missing. Arthur has let himself orbit the group in silence, just present enough that he's recognized and nothing else.

This—Lewis only knows after being told—has happened twice now.

“...we don't have to talk about anything.” His hands move, and Lewis' attention snaps to them. He doesn't mean to glare, but he knows that is exactly what has happened by the way Arthur slows and goes stiff once more.

One step forward, five steps back.

“We do.” The ghost knows the tone sounds curt, but he's just happy that there are words coming out at this point. If they'd had to resort to notes, this was going to take forever. They don't have the time. Lewis can already feel the telltale charge in the air around him. Knowing now that Arthur is the source doesn't make it easier to resist. Three feet away, and he can feel the energy leaking into their shared space. The static that crawls through the cavities between his bones. It's almost overwhelming when he's this close. And because it needs to be said: “You can move.”

There's more to it than just the words. Arthur doesn't relax. No swinging feet, no nods, no odd way that his shoulders rise and fall when he's thinking too loudly in his own head. He switches tools and begins to tighten one of the many visible bolts littering the gadget's surface. Easy, repetitive movements that Lewis recognizes are more for his benefit than Arthur's.

Since they have no idea where to start, Lewis decides the best place to begin is where everything ended.

“It happened in the cave, didn't it?”

The metal makes a screech, because Arthur was in the middle of a twist and it turned savage. The question could have been better timed, but it's too late for regrets now. There is a ragged breath, and the tense shoulders draw close. Arthur wants to bolt, but there's nowhere to run.

“Your arm.” Lewis fights to continue. A part of him, the human part that remembers and aches even now, hates that it is so hard to force something that isn't an accusation. If he can get Arthur talking, maybe... “You said the first time was when you lost it.” Vivi refused to confirm anything, too full of her own anger and disappointment. Arthur had done everything he could to dodge the topic. Trapping him—the ghost realizes what he's done with a pang of self-loathing—seems to be the only way for it all to come together.

Arthur's chest rises once, falls with a stutter. “Yeah.” He readjusts his hold on the wrench and begins the process again. He doesn't have to keep going, but he does anyway. “That's the one.”

His tone is morbid, bitter, and close to tears.

Lewis knows it's selfish, but he hopes that Arthur doesn't cry. He's uncertain if he would be able to feel what he should when a friend is crying, and he should. They aren't friends, not anymore...but they _should_ be.

“I know it wasn't your fault.”

It's easier to say than _I'm sorry_. Lewis would say it if he thought he could mean it. If he thought he could promise for even a second that there wasn't still so much of himself dedicated to revenge and hatred and fury. There are so many moments ticking by and the unbidden image of hurting Arthur rests on the heel of every one. It's the love for Vivi that has stayed his hand this long, and Lewis can't be sure that it isn't loving Vivi that is making him try to fix things. He loves her enough to move mountains for her—whether that's going to stop him if they push too hard...

Arthur is watching him.

Not in the usual way: there's no deer-in-the-headlights stare, no cowering. It isn't that he is not afraid, but he doesn't look fearful.

Then he smiles.

Something about his expression is gentle and hesitant and so very _sad_ that Lewis feels a pang of regret. It's not a new feeling exactly. He's felt it before when Arthur and Vivi and Mystery all tore out of his mansion as if death itself were at their heels. But anything that wasn't anger was always because of Vivi, even if it wasn't directly so.

Arthur is sitting quiet and alone with the light at his back, and smiling as if the world might fall apart if he does anything else.

“You don't believe that.” Not an accusation. A welling of shame follows those words nonetheless.

“No.” Their friendship is in tatters. Lewis is dead. He's spent over a year rotting in anger. Murdered and abandoned, even if it was unwilling. Arthur is missing an arm. Whatever fragile sense of self-worth he's managed to recover only comes from protecting Vivi. Standing between her and anything from bullets to sorrow. In the wake of all that's happened and all they've lost, the least they can do is be honest with each other. “But I'm trying.”

That gets a hollow laugh. Without moving, Arthur manages to fold in on himself again. Thin, pale, small Arthur. How could Lewis have ever doubted him?

_Darkness._

_Pain._

_A spike through his chest and the echo of screams in his ears._

“Yeah.” Arthur's voice cuts through. It's accompanied by a sharp yank on the wrench, no doubt stripping the metal in the process. The bolt will be loose again later. “Me too.”

 

 


	2. to know the sound of a smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are things you don't talk about, but only because you don't know what to say.

 

“It was very fast.” The ghost says, every movement an awkward shuffle.

It's the over-sized combat boots that do it. The deceased teenager had been a frail person, left bony and angular from rapid weight loss. What few photographs his parents had been able to provide were of a plump figure in bright sundresses and bows. The friends had shown them printed selfies of thin, marked arms and too-big shirts and jeans. _Evangeline_ was on the tombstone, but the group that stood with the Mystery Skulls had known him as _Evan_. Timid, shy, unwilling to tell them anything about his home life.

“I didn't feel a thing, I promise. It was just like going to sleep.”

Vivi's jaw is working, but she keeps it clenched shut. It took everything to track the ghost down, and get him talking. He and his friends need to heal, and if this is the conversation that does it...well, it's not her place to intervene. His friends all look so relieved to be able to say their goodbyes. Evan looks so happy that they still love him after learning the truth. They hug, and Vivi gives the appropriate rites that Evan asks for. He was raised devout Southern Baptist, but he selects something a little looser sounding. The sermon allows for a few words from his friend Maggie who worships in nature rather than churches. Afterward, he gratefully accepts two gold dollars from Garret in case he needs them on the other side. Iggy even sings what they remember of a Catholic hymn, and the tune is shaky but meaningful.

Evan's gone before midnight, and the kids are all crying and hugging and promising to leave lots of flowers on his grave all the time. They're already making plans to carve a more fittng one for him. One that has the correct name. Heavy, sad smiles are exchanged as they disappear in turn. The meager funeral returns home where they'll each grieve and adjust without an audience of strangers.

The Mystery Skulls call it a freebie, job well-done, and pack up.

Vivi makes it out of the graveyard and to the van's passenger door before she lets out an angry cry. Then she punches the metal just above the door handle. It's not hard enough to do any damage, of course, but that isn't the point. Her fury is without any real target. The vehicle is one of the few things to lash out at that won't involve the guilt of hurting a friend or the regret of breaking a gravestone. The fact that her outburst doesn't even leave a dent doesn't stop Arthur's yelp of protest. He's at her side, pulling her fist back and inspecting the scraped knuckles with a furrowed brow. Mystery barks in his loudest, most unhappy way at the already visible blood. She grimaces and tries to tug her hand back, but Arthur's already dragging her around the back to where they keep the first-aid kit.

It takes longer than she expected for him to ask. He waits until the antiseptic begins to sting before: “So what the hell was that about?”

She huffs and turns away with a growl.

“Viv. C'mon, talk to me.” He dabs at her knuckles, frowning when the bleeding doesn't stop. While he tears another packaged wipe open, he fixes her with his biggest eyes. Mystery wedges himself into her lap, whining. “Talk to _us_.”

Deep breath.

“Friends don't _lie_ to each other.”

He stutters, looking taken aback. Nearly drops her hand and stares at her as if she's grown a second or third head. Mystery's ears have shot up straight, eyes trained on her face over his glasses. His intelligence is horrible and impressive, for a dog.

“...w-wha??”

“He was _lying_.” She hisses, gripping the edge of her skirt with her good hand.

Arthur moves back to doctoring her cuts, but he's jerky and spooked. She's put him more off-balance than she thought, and Vivi can hear why as she listens to herself speak. It shouldn't make her so mad, but it seems like she has to grin and bear everything all the time for the sake of being normal again. The big and the small pile on top of each other. Vivi knows that it's just one of those straws that breaks the camel's back sort of moments. She just can't bring herself to care.

“It doesn't feel like that.” Her voice shakes around the explanation, as she fights to keep it steady and quiet. No need to set Arthur anymore on edge than he is. “You don't just go to sleep. Pass out a bit maybe, but it burns. It's like poison, and it hurts like you're being eaten alive, and you vomit and scream. You're _dying_. Pills don't just put you to sleep. It's _agony_. He _lied_ to them.”

Vivi breathes in deep, and the air whistles in her chest. She feels exhausted and hollow. If she changes the subject, maybe she can talk Arthur into stopping at a diner somewhere so that she can order something to eat. Hot, greasy food is sure to let her forget about tonight.

“...how do you know that?”

Arthur.

Is too damn good at picking up on the wrong bits of information.

She straightens her back, shrugs a little. “Read it in a book onc—”

“ _Bullshit_.”

She snaps her mouth shut, and catching the tip of her tongue in the process. Blood in her mouth turns her stomach, and suddenly Vivi's appetite is dead. It'll return within the next few hours, but for now she just feels empty and frustrated.

“I did read it in a book.” She bites out. And it's half-true. There are many texts on the subject, and she has read them.

“You know that's not what I'm asking. If this was just something in your library back home, you wouldn't be this upset. So don't play word games with me. I've known you since before grade school.” He leans his head slightly to the left, tucks his chin, and peers into her face. “What did you do?”

If you had asked Vivi an hour ago, she'd have told you that she didn't grind her teeth anymore and it would have been true. Now she can't seem to grit her jaws tight enough to stop the telltale scrap of the crowns against each other. It's a terrible habit. Worse than that, Arthur knows what it means.

He's on the right track.

“I didn't do anything.” She snarls, already beginning to shake. His grip migrated to her shoulders at some point, and Mystery has climbed into her lap and is whining. He feels heavy, and Arthur is too close. They're smothering her. “I didn't do _anything_.”

“Vivi.” Arthur drags her in and rests his forehead against hers. Tears are starting to burn in the corners of her eyes. “What did you _try_ to do?”

She breaks.

A throaty sob comes out instead of words and she hurries to cover her mouth before she says something and he takes it wrong. Arthur tugs her in further, wraps her up in a hug and tucks his chin in her hair. Mystery catches the water trails with his tongue. A too-big dog wedged between the two of them and fighting to press his cold nose against her cheek.

“I didn't...I wasn't trying to...” The words are misleading and she has to gulp down the crying so that she can actually speak. It keeps bubbling up in spite of her efforts. “I just..my head and they weren't...I didn't _mean_ to—”

“I got you.” Arthur murmurs into her hair, rocking her side to side. She twists in his grip and pushes her face against his collarbone, sniffling to swallow what remains of the waterworks. More seems to be leaking from anywhere on her face it can manage, and she's glad she didn't bother with make-up tonight. “I got you, Vi. It's okay.”

“I'm sorry...” She hiccups, and clings a little too hard. The comfort is nice. Arthur's not great at initiating hugs. It seems like there's too little physical contact in her life now.

“Not your fault.” He answers, and squeezes her a little. “But...don't go anywhere, okay?”

“And leave you all by yourself?” She guffaws, and the sound is wet but relieved. Arthur believes her. She's not going to be carted back into therapy. To the hospital and the never-ending list of specialists who keep saying they want to try to help her face her trauma. It's not that she doesn't want to remember, it's that no one with a degree seems to believe her when she says she can't. ”Not a chance. Where would you be without me around?”

“Lost.” Arthur laughs too.

She sinks into him with a grateful sigh.

Before they can get too comfortable, Mystery begins to struggle. He gives a disgruntled near-howl to re-insinuate himself, and peters off into a gurgle of upset noises once he has their attention. Vivi quickly rushes to pet and coddle the dog, and assure him that she'll live until she's old and grey and has a terrible hip. They close up the van and clamor over the seats to their respective places. It almost doesn't feel too empty in the front tonight. After they've put a few miles between them and the graveyard, she remembers to broach the topic of food. A midnight breakfast does wonders to put bad thoughts behind you.


	3. you will not ever be forgotten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That which means the most is never lost. It is only waiting to be found again.

 

“...isn't someone else coming?”

Vivi is as surprised as anyone else when she speaks, but the question feels legitimate even in her confusion. There are four chairs at the table. Her dog has already clamored into one, and is making himself as comfortable as a canine could hope to be. Arthur is still setting out plates around the cooling pot of box-ready pasta; the second chair for him is away from the table for when he finishes. Her own is firmly gripped from where she began to pull it out to sit in.

But that leaves one chair unaccounted for. 

She cringes against the headache starting to blossom behind her eyes. They've been happening more and more ever since the doctors lowered her dosage. Withdrawals, they'd warned her. Soon she wouldn't need the pills, apart from treating the occasional migraine. As much as Vivi appreciates her improvement, the constant throb in her head is trying her patience.

Focus.

Vivi presses two fingers to the place where the pain is spiking most sharply, and she fights back the haze. An extra chair doesn't register, but she can't remember having less than four either. Why is this so unsettling? They only eat when everyone is at the table, with exceptions made for snacks and on-the-road meals. Is the fourth chair just part of a dining set? A guest seat?

Those answers don't feel right. They aren't important enough.

“Vivi!”

She snaps upright, and finds both Arthur and Mystery staring at her with twin looks of concern. Mystery's tag has begun to wag in short, hesitant bursts of movement. When her gaze falls on him, he offers a worried noise of encouragement and paws the tabletop.

She should sit and eat.

She _should_.

“N-no one else is coming, Vi.” Arthur speaks slowly, trying to ward off the stutter that's been plaguing him the last few days. It's still a struggle to even get him to talk to her. Much of his day is spent tight-lipped and clutching at the remains of his left shoulder. Pale and silent as a shadow when he moves through the apartment. Volunteering to cook draws him out just long enough to shoo her from the kitchen. Neither of them seem to know where anything is. Ovens, cabinets, and cupboards have never been their domain—cooking was...

….was...

She hisses, and knocks off her glasses to push the heel of her hand into one eye. There is the sound of a plate shattering, and she feels Arthur strong-arming her into the chair. He struggles to keep his balance the whole time, and it's just incentive for Vivi to sit down without resistance. A moment later he is pushing a damp cloth to the side of her face, the cool water probably from her drinking glass. She hurries to press it to her flushed skin and breathes.

“Vivi?” His voice wavers and shifts, as if he's speaking to her underwater. In the background, there is the clicking of nails on linoleum, and her bottle of pain medication drops into her lap. It takes a moment to open them—Arthur only has the one hand to work with, and Vivi's are shaking too hard to twist the cap right. Two pills down the hatch, a sip of water, and Arthur pushes one of the slightly burnt dinner rolls into her hands before she can ask. He waits until she's swallowed the last bite before he speaks again: “Better...?”

“Give it a moment.” She sighs, leaning her head against his shoulder. Counting to eight, breathe. Four, and breathe again with only the nose. The water trickling down the side of her face is warming up, but the searing edge of the pain begins to ebb. When she finally lifts her eyes to the wall clock, Vivi sees that they've lost a grand total of forty-two minutes.

Wonderful.

“The food'll be cold.” She says, and Arthur shrugs as well as he can.

“We've got a microwave.”

In the back of her mind, she can almost feel the look of disgust that comment would get. Lewis would never approve of box-food to begin with, but—

“ _Lewis_.”

Arthur goes still.

Vivi begins to tremble, and her fingers dig into her hair. She doesn't pull, not with the headache still a lingering threat.

“Vivi.” He can only grip one of her hands and that won't stop both. Instead, his fingers slip around to the back of her neck and he drags his thumb over her hairline to ground her. “Vivi, you gotta keep breathing.”

“I forgot... _I forgot Lewis_.” She hiccups around the name, trying to think past the blooming panic. “How could I just...”

“Come on, Viv. Breathe.”

“You didn't _say anything_.”

It's cruel to accuse him, but the words are out and she doesn't have time to say how much she doesn't mean them. Arthur flinches, and his shoulders sag. She's already fumbling over apologies, touching their foreheads together and fighting off tears. He doesn't move away, but then...he doesn't say anything else either. Not until she presses a kiss to his cheek. Then he stands up quickly to return her pills to the counter, muttering something as he goes.

In his absence, Mystery presses the whole of his body against her leg. Scratching his ears gives her a sense of...not normalcy. Something more concrete. The world is tipping sideways for her, but at least her dog will always hound her for attention.

“I'm sorry.”

One of them needs to say it. It's funny that they both do at the same time. She almost laughs. It's more of the strange, choked noises that carry tears and mouth twitching. Arthur looks relieved.

“How's your head?”

“Fuzzy.” She admits. He'd worry if she lied. “Arthur...I...”

“The doctors said it's going to come and go a lot. At least until everything's settled and you've...had time.” Arthur was shoveling food onto her plate and avoiding eye contact. “I'm not supposed to agitate it.”

“...don't...” Vivi can't say not to listen to the doctors. They have all sorts of training that she can't begin to guess at, even if it feels wrong somewhere in the pit of her stomach. There is something going on here that has nothing to do with hitting her head, or traumatic memory loss. 'What' is still lost on her. “Don't let me forget. Not Lewis. Not anyone.”

Her eyes are starting to sting with oncoming tears. Arthur can't quite lean over the table to brush them away properly, but it's sweet that he tries.

“If...if I don't remember right away...”

“Promise.” He shoves her plate into her reach, and starts working on serving Mystery. “Now eat, before you remember how hungry you were earlier. I'm not sharing mine.”

Vivi laughs properly (because he _will_ and they both know it).

 


	4. we will rest upon the ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is greatness in the smallest gifts.

 

To her, it has always been something of a wonder how things come together. Vivi's natural curiosity has led her into strange circumstances since she was first able to walk. Over time, she's learned to embrace the nudge of instincts. Moving to a brand-new town presents a host of new opportunities to explore. New mysteries to solve. New treasures to discover. It is on a particularly warm, sunny afternoon that Vivi takes a new route home. There branch of shops and apartments that cut behind the main road, and never having been there is reason enough to go. 

It's the yellow hair that catches her eye.

She might have seen and explored the alcove at some point. As hidden as it was from view, that might not have been until far off in the future. The gap between brick buildings is tucked behind a large restaurant dumpster. A wall further down keeps the path from being an alleyway. With the street so close, the sounds of scuffling is drowned out by cars and pedestrians. Without something to grab her attention, Vivi might have continued walking right past.

Today is important.

Today, there is a _boy_ there.

More accurately, there are five boys and one girl. The yellow hair is messy, filthy, and pointing in every direction. It belongs to the one standing at the center of the half-circle the other children have formed around him. Vivi is too close to the noise of traffic to hear what they are saying, but the scene is familiar enough that she doesn't need to. The group is laughing and crowding the loner, and whenever he makes to leave, they shove him back into their midst.

He says something—Vivi can see his mouth move, but only just. Not enough to read the words.

He says _something_ and the other children _lose their minds_.

The arm of the biggest out of the group goes up. He stands a good head taller than his victim, but he's thin and he doesn't know how to shift his weight behind the blow. Vivi's feet are already moving, and she is much faster. The punch comes and she has the bully caught around the wrist well before it makes contact. She twists. Hard.

It takes maturity to not relish the yelp, and Vivi fights down the little spark of satisfaction.

But only just.

With one kick to the side, Vivi lets the attacker go reeling backwards. She laughs when it ends in three of the bullies sprawled out on the ground.

The two still upright clench their hands into fists, and she is much shorter than both of them. So she doesn't bother with a proper stance, or show of force. Instead, when one lunges, she drops to a knee and catches the soft tissue of a stomach with her elbow.

The following thud is a statement all on its own.

She pushes her thick glasses up into her hair so that the blurs remaining can see how blue her eyes are. For some reason everyone has always found the color unsettling, and Vivi has long since learned how to use this to her advantage.

They run. She waits until the footsteps are gone before replacing the glasses, and turning to look at the lump of shaking bright yellow.

The boy has flinched back, body still expecting a hit that never comes. He's a scrawny, short little kid. Younger than her, if the baby fat on his face is anything to go by. But he's also smudged with dirt and curled up tight to protect himself. It wouldn't surprise her if he looks different when he's not scared witless. Wide, frightened eyes lock on her every move, and Vivi is unsure of how to begin. She rubs her elbow, and scuffs one shoe, waiting for questions, or a scream, or at least for the boy to stop cowering

He doesn't, and after a while she grows impatient.

“I'm Vivi.” She says.

The boy blinks once, twice, and opens his mouth. Then he snaps it closed and sinks to the ground, hiding behind his bent knees.

“ _Well_?” She prompts, crossing her arms. “Are you at least going to say thank you?”

His mop of hair bobs forward in a little jerk, and he grabs hold of his legs. The white-knuckled force of his grip makes her wonder if he thinks they'll go running off without him. The image in her head is worth a laugh, so she can't help the little smirk that crawls over her face at it.

“You're welcome.”

And maybe it's because she's smiling, but he finally speaks.

“Thank you.”

Vivi's enthusiasm is the sort that explodes from every pore. She is nearly vibrating with her success—they are friends now, after all. They must be. It is about time she made a friend in her new home, after all. He shrinks back in the wake of her victory shout, but she has already pulled off her backpack. Vivi presents one of the drinkboxes left over from her lunch with flourish. When she presses it into his hands, he fumbles with it for as long as it takes for her to plop down next to him. By the time he's gotten the straw in place and taken a sip, her own is all but empty.

“...there are grapes on the front of this.” He says after the first taste, and his confusion is plain.

She fiddles with her empty box, and wonders if she's made a mistake in sharing. “Yeah. So?”

He takes another drink, and his eyes dart between her and the box, trying to puzzle out the secret she is keeping from him. The characters on its label are likely nothing but pictures to him, but he turns the container over in his hands a few more times. He drinks again. Then he catches on. “It's milk.”

Vivi knows that it's not nice of her to be intimidating on purpose. Several times since moving, her favorite foods have been a source of amusement. From adults and other children alike. She straightens her back a little more and looks him dead in the eye. “ _So_?”

He looks at the box. “Grape milk. Are there more of these?”

That's a new response.

“I have some at my house.” She relaxes in degrees, watching him. “Not a lot, though.” The edge creeps into her voice. They are special, and the only place that sells them in the area is far enough away that she has to be driven. Her meaning must come across, because he gives another nod, and continues drinking. Vivi looks on as she tries to puzzle him out. It isn't every day that someone is so accepting. The lack of conversation means that her only clues are in his appearance—and there isn't much to go on. He wears a t-shirt that is wrinkled and dusty, and khaki shorts that hang over bruised knees, and they are both too large for him. His yellow hair has shades to it, even some brown, and two spikes stick out away from the rest. Overall, he looks dirty and unkempt, but that could all be blames on the bullies.

“Why didn't you fight them?”

He looks over at her, mouth still caught on the straw, and his too-thick eyebrows raise in question.

“There were only five of them. You could've taken them.” At her words he shakes his head, and Vivi doesn't snort exactly. “Well, then why did you say anything? They would have left you alone eventually.” In her experience, scaring works best, but teachers don't like it when you hit the other children. Remaining tight-lipped and refusing to acknowledge them at all is just as good an option when you aren't allowed to retaliate.

He shrugs.

“If they get mad, they hit you too hard.” He takes the box away from his mouth to speak, and rattles it so that the straw twists about. Rather than look at her, he follows its circular movements. “It's no fun if they hit you hard enough to knock you out. They would have left and I'd have gone home after that.”

Vivi considers the idea.

For around two seconds.

“That's dumb.” When his shoulders slouch forward, she leans into him with all of her body weight. He is small enough that she can put an arm all the way around him. So she does. “I'll walk with you, so next time just come to me. If you're not going to beat them up, _I_ will. You don't have to let them hurt you so they'll go away.” Vivi watches him stare at the drinkbox instead of her, and waits until he nods again before finishing her own.

They sit together, in some fragile truce, before he breaks the silence again.

“I'm Arthur.”

He digs out a little pack of colored squares from his pocket—candy, she realizes—and puts one in her palm. It's not any of the kinds she's tried since moving here, but it is sweet and burns at the same time. Delicious. She's gone out of her way to share in this new town. It's nice to be given something back.

She grins and decides that she'll keep him.

 


End file.
